


The Gate Below Gotham

by Morimaitar



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Angst, Blood Loss, Blood and Injury, Developing Relationship, Digital Art, Emotional Baggage, Fanart, Feelings Realization, First Kiss, Hurt Dick Grayson, Hurt Jason Todd, Hurt/Comfort, JayDick Summer Exchange, Love Confessions, M/M, Missions Gone Wrong, Serious Injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-01
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 14:20:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26070280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morimaitar/pseuds/Morimaitar
Summary: Dick wakes in a cold sweat. No, not sweat. Water. It surges around his limp, aching legs—swelling, rising—and soaks the fabric of his uniform. The water is a frothy grey, smelling of storms and asphalt.His first thought is:Jason.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd
Comments: 33
Kudos: 347
Collections: JayDick Summer Exchange 2020





	The Gate Below Gotham

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stevieraebarnes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevieraebarnes/gifts).



> Heya Stevie! I saw your hurt/comfort prompt and just couldn't help myself. 
> 
> This location was inspired heavily by the [water control system](https://www.bbc.com/future/article/20181129-the-underground-cathedral-protecting-tokyo-from-floods) beneath Tokyo. Go check it out!

Dick wakes in a cold sweat. No, not sweat. Water. It surges around his limp, aching legs—swelling, rising—and soaks the fabric of his uniform. The water is a frothy grey, smelling of storms and asphalt. 

_The dam,_ he remembers. 

He remembers other things, too. The sound of Nygma’s laughter. The maze. The explosion. A sharp pain in his leg. Shouting at Tim— _take Robin and go, I won’t be far behind_ —and lying, limping, running. Smoke stinging his eyes. Red. Strong arms heaving him up— _I_ _got you, Pretty Bird—_ and taking him toward the exit. Too much smoke. No oxygen. Orange, grey, black.

His first thought is: _Jason._

When he tries to breathe the chill hits him like a shockwave. So cold he can hardly move his fingers. There’s ice in his lungs. He’s coughing up blood. The taste of copper soaks his tongue, burning as it falls from his lips and into the churning water. An angry pain bursts along his back, his skull, the side of his ribs. 

“Hood,” he forces out. His voice is weak, hardly audible over the rush of water. Or is that his pulse? Hard to tell. 

He looks up. Smooth concrete rises above him, eighteen, twenty meters high. The only light comes from the flickering yellow bulbs littered across the ceiling. They’re dim, but still bright enough to reveal that Dick is sitting in a forest of stone columns. Most of it is dark. 

The water discharge channels, beneath Gotham. And the water is rising. 

“Hello?” Dick calls into the empty. Water drips down his hair, soaking his collar. “Anyone there?” 

No response. Something like a sickness stirs in his belly. _They made it out,_ he tells himself. Tim found Damian and ran. Dick saw them racing out, splitting the smoke as they moved, looking over their shoulders and urging him to come too. They made it out. They’re safe. His boys are safe, and that’s all that matters. 

Slowly Dick pushes himself to his feet, feeling a deep ache roll up through his left thigh. A shard of glass is buried deep within the muscle, dripping pink. He touches it and recoils. The bleeding seems to have eased, slowed by the presence of the glass. But it’s close to his femoral. Dangerously close.

The first step is alright. The second, less so. It’s bearable enough for him to slog through the water, trying to make sense of his surroundings. Huge stone columns. Water rushing like a river around them, lapping at the burned skin of his calves. Grey and black and yellow and—

Red.

Dick drives forward. Too fast; his leg buckles and he falls into the water. It fills his mouth and eyes, but only for a moment. Then he is up again, blinking away the blurriness, swallowing the pain. 

Fighting against the current, he limps toward the figure slumped against one of the large columns, each step more agonizing than the last. His heart is a hammer in his throat. _No,_ he thinks, seeing Jason’s slack posture, the limp tilt of his head. _You can’t be dead. You can’t. I won’t allow it._

Not dead. There’s an ugly sound coming from his helmet, a thin wheeze that makes Dick’s stomach clench. The side of his armor is wet with more than water. Jason doesn’t seem to be conscious. 

Dick kneels at his side, wincing as the muscle in his thigh contorts around the shard. Without looking he can tell that the sharp edge has been driven further into him. The thick heat of blood is a giveaway. 

Carefully, he unhooks Jason’s helmet and slides it over his head. The skin beneath is a sickly, pallid color, like some fever had descended upon him. Somehow the wheezing is worse. More human. 

“Jason,” Dick says, gut twisting. He thinks of his leg, of how hard it was to bridge the small distance between them. “Jason, you need to get up. I can’t—I can’t carry you on my own. I wish I could, but I can’t. I _can’t.”_

The water is rising. Over a foot deep now. Dick touches Jason’s shoulder; his hand comes away red.

“Jason, _please.”_

His eyelids begin to flutter. 

Relief floods Dick’s body. “That’s it. Come back,” he says softly, guiding Jason’s head into an upright position. His skin is cold. “Come back to me, Little Wing.” 

And then green irises are staring back at him. 

“Dick,” Jason says. It’s more of a gasp than anything else. Shaky and breathless. “You’re… you’re okay.”

A sudden guilt bursts inside him. “Don’t worry about me,” he replies softly. “We need to—”

“The others are safe. I watched…I watched them get out.” He takes several ragged breaths that sound like they do nothing. “They’re coming for you.” 

_For you._

“Can you walk?” Dick asks. 

“Dunno.” Wincing, Jason peels away from the column and looks at his side. Blood oozes from an angry wound along his ribs. “Shit. That looks—” He pauses to gulp down air. “—I didn’t think…it was…that bad.”

“Don’t talk. You might have—” 

“Collapsed…lung.” Jason nods grimly, fumbling with something at his belt. The water laps at his fingers as he finally, painfully extracts something. A needle. “Aspir… aspira…”

Dick’s eyes widen. “Jason, you don’t—”

“Have to,” he wheezes, extending the knife toward Dick. His gaze is gentle and wet as everything else around them. Up close, it’s achingly clear how beautiful his eyes are, how they capture an intangible softness that stands in stark contrast to the strong angles of his face. No longer a Robin. “I… trust you…Pretty Bird.” 

_You shouldn’t,_ Dick wants to say. _It’s my fault we’re in this mess. I let Nygma blow up the dam. Again. And now we’re going to drown beneath Gotham._

But he doesn’t say these things. He can’t. Because the water is rising—thirty centimeters, now—and they’re both bleeding, and he cannot fail again. 

Dick accepts the knife and nods. “Your armor,” he says softly. 

Jason struggles to remove it. Each movement is shaking and uncertain, and when the pain on his face becomes too much to bear Dick can’t _not_ do anything anymore. 

“Here,” he says, taking over. Gently, he begins to work on the buckles, trying not to stare at the river of blood oozing from Dick’s side. “I’ve got it. Just—yeah, that’s it.”

The last of the armor falls from Jason’s chest, followed by his shirt. He gasps—in pain or relief or both—then leans back against the pillar, squeezing his eyes shut. 

“Just…do it,” he mutters. 

Right. Dick moves forward, feeling the water surge around his thighs. The current is faster now, hard enough to stir the glass shard and threaten to rip it from his skin. Slowly, he lifts the side of Jason’s shirt, trying not to look at the gaping wound to his side, or at anything else. 

“It’s going to be okay, Little Wing,” he whispers, fingers brushing over the crest of Jason’s torso. “On three, okay? One, two—”

The needle sinks into Jason’s chest. He grunts in pain, a sound like a punch to Dick’s gut. But he can’t think about that, shouldn’t think about that. What’s important is opening the valve. Letting out the air.

It escapes with a hiss. Jason gasps, reaching out to grab hold of Dick’s shoulder, as if the sudden influx of air had stunned him. 

“Don’t close your eyes,” Dick says. “Not now. Stay with me, Little Wing. Stay awake.”

Jason takes another deep breath, holding tight. “M’okay,” he mumbles. “Breathing.”

When he meets Dick’s gaze, something quiet passes behind his eyes. Neither of them move. 

“Flood’s coming,” Dick says at last.

Jason nods, letting go of Dick’s shoulder. The absence of his touch is an unforgiving chill. As he stands—recoiling with each small contraction of muscle—he mutters, “Keep moving.”

“Keep moving,” Dick echoes, body aching as he climbs to his feet and slips his shoulder beneath Jason’s arm. Water drips from both of them, and the air is like ice against Dick’s skin, and yet he’s warm. 

He’s so warm. 

The first step is another agony. And the second. And the third. Water fights against them—up to their knees—and it seems that every time he finds his balance another current is there to throw them down. 

“It’s gonna be okay,” he mutters, after his leg buckles beneath Jason’s weight. “Just, hold tight. I’ve got you, I’ve—”

His words die as the water drags them under. Dick scrambles to find the floor beneath him, but each time his feet find the floor another rush knocks him down again. Water pours down his throat, choking and freezing him from the inside. Nothing warm left.

_Jason._

Dick fights harder to stand. But his leg is on fire, and there’s water dripping into his eyes, and all he can hear is the flood, and Jason is nowhere, and it’s so goddamn cold and wet and dark—

A strong arm yanks him upright. “Can’t…do everything,” Jason mutters, locking an arm around Dick’s torso. 

“I’m not leaving without you,” Dick forces out. Water drips from his mouth and nose, bitter as rotting leaves. 

“Dammit…Dick.” Jason leans into him until they are resting on each other. “M’not going…anywhere…goddamn…hero.” 

They push on. Slow and heavy with the current. The water rises—hip level, freezing—and the current grows stronger. Dick can see the strain on Jason’s face, hear it in each thin, ragged breath. _Needs a doctor,_ he thinks. _Needs a doctor or he’s going to die, he’s going to die and it’s going to be my fault…_

The water is past his waist by the time they make it to the stairwell. Six stories up: the churning midnight sky. 

Two steps up. Dick holds one railing, Jason holds the other. Four steps up. For the first time, Dick sees the huge bruise along Jason’s spine. Eight steps up. Without the aid of the water his whole body is heavy, so wet that his skin feels dry and shriveled. 

His knees go weak again. 

Ten steps up. Dick can hardly choke out a warning before he’s falling in a heap on the first platform, legs twisting painfully. He tries to stand, but his hands push uselessly against the steel beneath him. It’s like he’s been torn apart from the inside out. But he has no right to be hurt, not when Jason couldn’t breathe ten minutes ago, not when Jason…when Jason… 

His thoughts scramble.

“Dick.”

Vision darkening.

“Dick. Dickiebird. You gotta… gotta stay awake.” 

_That’s Jason’s voice,_ Dick realizes. _He’s alive._

“Come on,” Jason says. His voice is soft but urgent. “Don’t leave me.” 

It takes all of Dick’s energy to shake his head. “Jason,” he mutters. 

“Yeah. That’s… that’s right.” There’s a pause as Jason takes a deep breath. “Keep talking, Pretty Bird.”

“You came after me. At the dam.” 

Jason laughs softly. “Trust me. You don’t want to be a martyr, Dick.” 

Finally, Dick is able to push himself up. Three meters below, the grey water is churning. “You got hurt,” he says dumbly, directing his gaze to the ugly wound in Jason’s side. The analytical part of his brain directs him to think of sterile rooms and antibiotics. But another part… He does not let himself think of the other part.

Jason cups a hand over the wound, pressing until his knuckles are white. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Getting here. I fell. Rebar.”

“Before you came for me?”

“After.”

Dick squeezes his eyes shut, swallowing the guilt that builds in his throat. He pictures an injured Jason, blind with pain, stumbling around as he tries to carry him to safety. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Jason cocks his head, green eyes falling dark. “Dammit, Dick. Don’t… don’t talk like that.”

Now it’s Dick’s turn to let out a quiet laugh. 

“Don’t,” Jason says again, sharper this time. “I’m just a fuck-up, okay?”

Resting his aching head against the railing, Dick mutters, “You’re not a fuck-up.”

“I am. Just ask…” He gestures; recoils in pain. “...anyone. And you, you’re a whole different class. The best anyone could hope to be. So tell me why I shouldn’t have saved you, Pretty Bird.” 

Despite his pounding skull, Dick shakes his head. “You can’t just throw yourself away like that.”

“Pot meet kettle,” Jason snorts. He takes a deep, ragged breath and draws his hand through his hair. Water droplets spill down his forehead. “At least… at least people care about you.”

“People care about you,” Dick says, stomach twisting. He meets Jason’s eyes, holds him there. _“I_ care about you.” 

“If Nightwing died, the world would go into mourning. If I died—” He stops suddenly, chewing his lip as he stares down at the water. “Well. I guess we know, don’t we.” 

Dick quiets, feeling rivulets of water fall down his neck, off of his fingers. If he looks hard enough, he can see his reflection in the water down below, rippling and distorted. And then his gaze grows heavy, and he looks away. 

“I care about you,” he says again. “You know that, right?”

For a moment, Jason says nothing. Then he gestures to the shard in Dick’s leg. “You’re bleeding.”

“I know. You are too.”

“M’fine.” He presses his fingers harder against his side. Blood pools between and over them, soaking the hem of his pants. “Already dead.”

“Jason…”

“I know you care, Dick,” Jason says softly. “You always care. That’s why I…that’s why everyone loves you.”

“People love you too.”

Jason gives him a sad smile. “You don’t have to lie.”

“I’m not,” Dick replies. _Say it,_ he thinks, but the words harden at his lips. His stomach twists, his pulse is louder than the water. And Jason is looking at him, and those green eyes, and he can hardly breathe—

“I love you,” Dick says. 

“You love everyone.”

“No.” Dick shakes his head, feeling a fresh wetness pool around his eyes. _Please believe me._ “I _love_ you, Jason.”

_Love your strength. Your kindness. Your heartbreak. Your stubbornness. Your hope. Your everything._

Jason flinches as if he’s been hit. “Why would— _fuck.”_

A wave of fresh blood pours between his fingers. Jason squeezes his eyes shut, hissing in pain as he presses both hands over the wound. His limbs tremble. 

Dick pulls himself closer, riding through the ache that bursts inside his own body. “I’ve got you,” he says, placing his hands over Jason’s as he looks up toward the stairwell. So far yet to climb. “You’re gonna need to go to a hospital.”

Jason hums in response, face contorted in agony. “Didn’t do it for them,” he mumbles. 

“What?”

“I didn’t save you for them, Pretty Bird.”

Dick pauses. “I don’t understand.”

“I saved you for me.” 

When Jason opens his eyes, Dick realizes for the first time how close their faces are. Hardly any air stirs the space between them. 

“You’re my everything,” Jason whispers. 

Dick’s heart takes a running leap up his throat. _Wrong,_ say the voices inside. _It means nothing. Don’t ruin it._

For an eternity, he doesn’t move. The water roars beneath them. Three meters deep by now. If he drapes his arm over the edge of the platform, his fingers will grace the surface. But he won’t let go of Jason. He can’t. All he can do is watch him and pretend he doesn’t know exactly what Jason meant. 

And then he can’t pretend anymore.

It’s hardly a kiss. Just the gentle brushing of his lips over Jason’s. Not even enough to send his pulse aflame. In the end, it is little more than a fact: they kissed, briefly. 

Yet it also feels like a promise. 

After, neither of them say anything. Like they both know what has to come. Finally, Dick pulls his hands away to check the wound, and seeing that the bleeding has slowed, grasps the railing and pulls himself to his feet. 

“The water’s catching up,” he says, extending a hand. 

Jason looks toward the sky as he takes Dick’s hand and rises, unsteady. “A long way to go,” he replies. 

“It’s going to be okay.” Dick places his foot on the next stair, takes a deep breath. Jason’s hand is warm and slick with blood. “We’re going to be okay.” 

“I know, Pretty Bird.”

Dick doesn’t give a reply because he knows he doesn’t need to. All he must do is take a deep breath, holding tight to Jason and to hope. 

And they climb. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :)


End file.
